


Cufflinks

by MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)



Series: Cufflinks [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Rumbelle - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkwardness, Christmas, Cufflinks, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Office Party, Regina doesn't have any lines but she's referenced a lot, Regina is like a modern day Mr. Fezziwig, Rumbelle - Freeform, Secret Crush, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 03:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17337998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/pseuds/MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: Christmas crazy Belle French has more than a little crush on Mr. Gold, her firm’s workaholic senior partner. After she worms her way into being his Secret Santa in the office gift exchange, she decides the office New Year's Eve party is the perfect time to tell him how she feels. But an incident with the office elevator and a mix-up with the presents makes her wonder if Fate has other plans. Will Belle still snag her man and her midnight kiss?





	Cufflinks

**Author's Note:**

> My Christmas/New Year's gift to all of you. Thanks for your friendship and support! Happy New Year!
> 
> I'm sorry this is so late, but with a string of holiday guests, I don't have much time to myself in November and December. I hope this makes up for my lack of updates.
> 
> Many thanks to galactic-pirates and maplesyrup for reading through this for me! <3

“A mandatory office party on New Year’s Eve?” Ruby groaned. “Ugh! Regina is such a witch.”

“It’s not so bad,” Belle countered. She dug her hands into the pockets of her winter white coat, bracing herself against the wind for the last block of their walk to the office. It was a blustery cold night, but the snow that was expected to blanket Storybrooke, Maine, when they woke up tomorrow morning wasn’t scheduled to arrive until 4 in the morning. By the time the flakes flew, most New Year’s Eve revelers would have already dragged themselves to bed, drunk on champagne and midnight kisses. “Besides, we have tomorrow off.”

“Not so bad?” Ruby grimaced. “The only thing _not bad_ about this situation is the open bar. I’m gonna get completely shitfaced, take my free vacation day, then follow it up with a week of sick time.”

“That’ll teach Regina to have a party.” Belle grinned, knowing the opposite was true. Regina Mills, the owner and CEO of Regal Marketing and their boss, had a deeply held philosophy that social events brought her team closer and made the workplace more productive. And as a result, she hosted outings and parties often. “Did you remember to bring your Secret Santa gift?”

Each holiday season, the gifts for their Secret Santa exchange were placed under the huge, glittering tree outside Regina’s office on the last Friday before Christmas. The idea was for everyone to take their gift home, open it at leisure, and bring it to the New Year’s Eve Party. As the team rang in the New Year together, Regina would reveal the identities of all the Secret Santas.

“Yep.” Ruby unzipped her leather jacket to reveal a red sweater featuring a sequined reindeer with a bejeweled red nose. “One ugly ass Rudolph sweater.”

“I think it’s cute!” Belle nudged her self-proclaimed work wife with her elbow. “Where’s your holiday spirit?”

“Christmas is over, Belles,” Ruby said flatly. “What’d you get from your Santa?”

Belle smiled. Sometimes it was hard to remember not everyone was as enthusiastic about the holidays as she was. Most years she was hauling a fresh evergreen into the house before the Thanksgiving turkey had even been carved. She loved the lights, the smells, the sounds of the season. Christmas was a magical, cozy time, and she wanted to stretch out the anticipation for as long as possible, and if she could carry her Christmas cheer into New Year’s, so much the better. She was fortunate her parents were as crazy for Christmas as she was; throughout December, the three of them packed in as much decorating, cookie-baking, and holiday light viewing as possible.

She patted the knapsack slung over her shoulder. “A gift card to the bookshop around the corner, tea tagged with literary quotes, a mug with the phrase “Bookmarks Are for Quitters,” and an old books candle—it smells like an ancient library, all aged paper and dusty shelves.”  
  
Impressed, Ruby whistled. “Generous. And whoever they are, they know all about you and your obsession with books!” 

“Isn’t it great? I’ve brought it all with me, plus one of the books I bought with the gift card. It might be the best book I’ve read all year.”

“Nice.”

Ruby dodged a small patch of ice, dragging Belle around it, too. When Belle started talking about books she tended to get distracted and walking into walls or slipping on black ice were distinct possibilities.  
  
“It’s called _Hyperion Heights_ ,” Belle continued. “There’s this police detective, Weaver, who’s looking for the love of his life. She’s missing and he’s tearing the town apart looking for her. Oh! But he’s not really a detective. It’s this elaborate curse cast by a witch that makes him believe he’s someone else. So romantic.”

Ruby wrinkled her nose. “I guess if you like that sort of thing. Any wolves in it?”

“Not so far.” Belle shook her head and opened the door to their office building. She and Ruby’s heels clicked in unison as they crossed the lobby toward the elevator.

“Are they ripping each other’s clothes off yet?”

Belle pulled a face. “Wolves ripping each other’s clothes off? Now that would make for a fascinating love scene.”

She punched the button for the seventh floor where their office was located. Normally she took the stairs whenever possible, but tonight’s party heels were particularly towering. Besides, she didn’t want to be flustered and out of breath when she was seeing _people_.

Ruby feigned a bored yawn. “No sex and no wolves? Boooriiiiing.”

“Well, I think it’s wonderful.” A dreamy sigh slipped past her lips.

She’d never admit it out loud, but something about the hero of her novel, Detective Weaver, reminded her of the company’s senior partner, Mr. Gold. He was Regina’s second in command at the company, and the only executive on staff besides Regina. Besides being the general counsel, his specialty was terrorizing the team into doing their work. And if you weren’t a hard worker, he was positively terrifying. Last week, right before the team was dismissed for Christmas break, Ashley Boyd had run out of the office sobbing after she’d failing to complete next year’s advertising plan for the Storybrooke Community Bank.  
  
Fortunately, Belle was both talented and diligent. Not only did she complete all her projects on deadline, but she’d also helped land the company some of their most prestigious accounts. She wasn’t sure Gold liked her, exactly, but she knew he appreciated her work. Sometimes he was grouchy, but she figured his sour attitude was the product of loneliness. He’d been divorced for years and his son was away at college. While she had the company of her parents and plenty of friends, Gold appeared to live a solitary existence. Night after night, she imagined him wandering around his dark, rambling Victorian all alone. With nothing but empty rooms to look forward to, it was only natural he threw all his time and energy into work and spent 18 hours a day at his desk.

Or maybe she was simply making excuses because she had a huge, ridiculous crush on him.

“You’re in an awfully good mood.” Ruby punched the elevator button and smiled slyly. “Does this mean you’re gonna make a move on your work crush tonight? Maybe a New Year’s Eve midnight kiss?”

Belle’s stomach flipped at the thought of kissing Gold.

“Did you know according to German and English folklore, a New Year’s Eve kiss strengthens a budding romance?” she explained, dodging the question. “The first person you encounter in the New Year—and the nature of the encounter—sets the tone for your relationship for the next 365 days.”

“Did your Detective Weaver say that in your novel?” Ruby rolled her eyes and ushered her onto the elevator. “I can read you like a book, girl.”

“Ha! Shows how much you know.” She gave Ruby a triumphant smile. “It was in the January issue of _Time_ magazine.”

Ruby snorted. “Whatever.”

Belle’s stomach jumped again as the elevator lurched and began a slow, lumbering climb. The ancient elevator box was affectionately known by the building’s inhabitants as the Dinosaur because it could take a full five minutes to get to the floor of your choice. The machine wasn’t dangerous, by any means, just slow. The old cliché about molasses in January definitely applied.  

“You could have brought Archie along,” Belle said. Archie was Ruby’s latest boyfriend. Regina always encouraged them to bring a spouse or family member to the New Year’s Eve party, especially with the tradition of giving and receiving kisses at midnight.

Ruby shook her head. “Archie’s with his dad tonight. Marco’s under the weather. But why didn’t you bring a date?”

Belle blushed, imagining an angular face and whiskey brown eyes. _Gold_. Since Christmas Day, she’d thought of little else but seeing him here tonight. Cornering him at the office holiday party did seem a little desperate, but what choice did she have when he insisted on being all business all the time. 

Gold eschewed most of their work outings—he’d already managed to dodge the pre-Christmas ice skating, hot chocolate bar, and Sunday afternoon charades and cookie exchange at Regina’s house, but the New Year’s Eve party wasn’t optional.

And this year Belle held a trump card: she was Gold’s Secret Santa, so he would be forced to acknowledge her in a personal way, even if only for a moment.

She’d traded with three people and bribed Killian Jones in order to finally get his name in the exchange. It had taken her weeks to land on the perfect present, but she’d done it. Something useful but personal to complement the expensive suits he was so fond of wearing—a new pair of cufflinks fashioned to look like stacks of antique books.

“Poor Marco.” Belle tsked, thinking of Archie’s elderly father. She should make it a point to bring him some chicken soup tomorrow. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes. “It’s only a cold. And don’t change the subject. Your mystery crush does work here! That’s why you didn’t bring a date!”

Belle grinned and pretended to zip her lip.

“Come on.” Ruby stomped her foot and the Dinosaur groaned. “Your New Year’s resolution is to tell your work wife all about it.”

“Hmm.” Belle pretended to consider. “I don’t remember making any such resolution.”

Ruby tilted her head. “Is it Gaston?”

“No, won't be dating any chauvinist pigs this year. Next?”

“David Nolan?”

“He’s married!”

“So what? It happens.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “So I like Mary Margaret, I’m not a homewrecker, and he’s not my type.”  
  
“Regina?”

“She’s engaged! You do remember Emma used to be a bail bondswoman before she was sheriff? The New Year is just starting and I’d kinda like to be alive to enjoy it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ruby held up her hand and admired freshly polished nails studded with tiny rhinestones. “Confession time, Belles. I’m bored with guessing.”

Belle bit her lip. Ruby had been after her to give up the identity of her crush for weeks and she was tired of keeping it to herself. “It’s Mr. Gold,” she blurted, butterflies exploding in her stomach as she finally admitted her feelings out loud.

Ruby gaped like a goldfish, her green eyes as round as the lush winter moon.

“Put that look away!” she ordered, hands on her hips. Her best friend’s shock hurt more than she expected and was putting her on the defensive fast.

“Belles-”

But Belle wasn’t having any arguments. “You’re telling me you don’t see it at all? Those tailored-to-fit-like-a-glove suits? That lopsided smile? And what about his soulful caramel eyes? They say _so much_ about a person.”

“Well-”

“Mr. Gold is totally sexy!”

“Thank you very much for the compliment, Miss French,” said a dry, male voice. “But holiday bonuses have already been distributed. So you see; flattery will get you nowhere.”

Belle snapped her head to the front of the elevator. Somewhere in the middle of her passionate case in favor of Mr. Gold, the Dinosaur had arrived at their destination. The doors were _open_. Directly in front of her stood the man himself, leaning over his cane. He was wearing his blackest pinstripe suit and his blackest scowl to match.

“Ruby!” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth. “A warning would have been nice!”

“I tried to tell you,” Ruby whispered in her ear. “But there’s no predicting what the Dinosaur will do. Just act natural and head toward the bar.”  
  
Belle stepped out of the elevator to follow Ruby, but she caught her heel on the metal lip of the elevator. She toppled, falling toward Gold.

His arms flew out to steady her, his hands grasping her upper arms to keep her from smacking her face on the floor. The weighty warmth of his fingertips seemed to brand her through the fabric of her coat and dress, all the way down to her skin. Goosebumps broke out across her shoulders and neck and she caught her breath.

When she dared to look up into his face, his mouth was twisted like the red and white stripes of a candy cane. He released her like a retracting spring, stepping back as if he’d been burned. An awkward silence filled the air, punctuated by the ding and whoosh of the closing elevator doors.

Belle looked over her shoulder to glare at the Dinosaur. She was taking the stairs from now on, no matter how high her heels were.

Forty pairs of curious eyes were glued to their every move. She’d just announced to the entire office—not to mention Mr. Gold himself—that she thought he was sexy. A few of her co-workers were already suspicious about the handstands she’d done to be Mr. Gold’s Secret Santa. Now, not only did everyone know she had a massive crush on him; now they also knew the feeling was most definitely _not_ mutual.

Her heart screamed like an approaching freight train and the pattern on the carpet danced in her head.

Was December 31st too late in the holiday season for a Christmas miracle? Because she could really use one now.

“C’mon, Gold.” David Nolan saddled up beside him carrying two cups filled with punch. He thrust one into Gold’s open hand, then jabbed a finger in the direction of his office. “Let me show you those proofs for the country club summer program. They’re due next week.”

“Oh, I don’t need to be reminded by you that we have a deadline, Nolan.” Lured away by the promise of completing a project, Gold allowed David to lead him toward the rows of offices lining the back end of their floor. David sent her a secret wink, and Belle breathed a sigh of relief. David was a good guy.

Maybe the evening could be salvaged after all.

But as Gold passed by, she caught a flash of metal on his wrist and her heart plummeted. He wasn’t wearing the antique book cufflinks she’d given him for the Secret Santa exchange. Instead, he wore a familiar pair of plain silver knots he’d worn at least once a week for the past two years. Not that she was keeping track of his wardrobe.

She’d gone from panicked to relieved to depressed in the span of thirty seconds. Gold didn’t like her gift and when the time came to reveal who everyone’s presents were from, she would look like a total idiot for the second time in one evening.

Tonight was shaping up to be the worst New Year’s Eve ever. Dejected, she slunk away in the direction of the refreshments.

* * *

 

Gold stood at his desk and flipped through the advertising artwork for the Storybrooke Country Club. “This looks fine,” he told David. “Brilliant, actually. 

“Don’t thank me. Thank Belle,” David said with a smile. “Most of this was her doing.”

“Indeed.” He coughed, then wrapped his scarf around his neck. The last person he wanted to discuss was Miss French and her odd pronouncement on the elevator. He knew he wasn’t a bloody heartthrob—he owned a mirror for God’s sake—but hearing her poke fun at his looks was more painful than he could have imagined.

Such careless remarks he would have expected to come from the vapid Ashley Boyd or the brash Ruby Lucas, but Belle? Never. Belle cared about people. Apparently, he just wasn’t one of them. He massaged his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. Lord, he was tired.

“I’ve been at my desk 15 hours today. And now I’m off before the snow flies. See you next year, Nolan. Enjoy the evening.”

“Wait.” David stepped in front of him. “Why would you want to head home to an empty house when there are people here who want to spend time with you?”

“And what people would those be?” He barked a humorless laugh.

“Me, for starters. And I’m not the only one.” Nolan ran a hand through his hair. “You do see what’s going on here, don’t you?”

He tapped the folder holding the marketing prospectus and slid it into his briefcase. Nolan was a good director of advertising and the closest thing he had to a friend after Regina, but sometimes he could be a touch thick. “It’s a fairly simple ad campaign.”

“No, you knucklehead. I meant Belle. She likes you. I mean, really likes you. You heard her. Why else would she…” Nolan trailed off with a frown.

Gold could feel a flush creeping up his neck and was thankful his scarf was wrapped around his throat. Belle couldn’t possibly have meant it when she said he was...what was the word? Oh yes. _Sexy._ He set his teeth on edge. “Why else would she what?” he demanded.

“Nothing.” Nolan shoved his hands in his pockets. “Forget it. Just maybe try to enjoy yourself. Loosen your collar and have a drink. Or three. And stay until the Secret Santa reveal.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll think about it.” He wasn’t going to think about it. He hadn’t received a gift in the exchange. On Christmas Eve, long after everyone else had gone home, he’d looked under the tree for a present bearing his name. It was nowhere to be found. Considering the time, care, and expense he’d put into selecting his gift, reality came as an unexpected slap.  
  
Many times he’d heard the adage that it was better to give than to receive, but there was nothing more humiliating than publicly admitting you were so despised by your coworkers that your Secret Santa had neglected to even wrap up a crappy, polyester necktie.

For the hundredth time since Christmas, he chastised himself for caring. What did it matter? The Secret Santa exchange was just another one of Regina’s stupid holiday traditions. He was content to stay behind the scenes and let Regina have the limelight she craved.

Honestly, with her penchant for being adored and showing the team a good time, it was a wonder any work got done at all. Good thing he’d been here all these years to keep her on task. When she opened Regal Marketing during a snowstorm ten years ago this February 12, they’d had only one client—the Storybrooke Grocer. From there, thanks to him, they built the business together by helping businesses up and down Main Street, even moving several into online sales. Storybrooke was somewhat behind the times, but they were catching up with the rest of the world, again thanks to him.

“Are you done thinking about it yet?” Nolan took an impatient slurp of punch and gestured through his office door. “Belle’s been sitting in the corner alone for the past fifteen minutes looking like she lost her best friend. Have you ever known her to say a mean word about anyone?”

Gold peered through the glass. Belle was indeed holed up in the quietest corner of the office, wedged between the terrace doors and the old grandfather clock. She was nursing a cup of punch and balancing a plate of hors-d'oeuvres on her lap. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was hiding. Usually, she was so animated he half-expected her auburn curls to catch on fire, but tonight she wasn’t talking or laughing with any of her friends.

“Go over there, man,” Nolan urged. “Talk to her.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, wavering. Seeing Belle look so sad tugged at what remained of the hollow old husk of his heart. “Perhaps I’ll wish her a Happy New Year on my way out.”

“There’s the spirit.” Nolan grinned and clapped him on the back.

* * *

 Gold didn’t want to startle Belle again so he moved toward her slowly, the tap-tap-tap of his cane announcing his approach. He came to a stop a few feet away, folding his hands over the handle of his cane to observe her from the opposite side of the grandfather clock. 

She was turned toward the balcony window and he could just make out the outline of her reflection in the darkened glass. She seemed to have folded herself into a sad little ball, unaware of the laughter and chatter swelling around her.

He cleared his throat. “Good evening, Belle.”

“Mr. Gold. Hi.” Her voice was small and void of enthusiasm and her clear blue eyes were downcast.

He winced, regretting his earlier quip outside the elevator about ingratiating herself for a larger bonus. Belle worked hard regardless of compensation and had proven herself time and again. Hadn’t she worked overtime the week before Christmas to perfect the country club’s new tagline? Perhaps he’d jumped to conclusions and wasn’t seeing the whole picture, as Nolan had suggested. There was only one way to know for sure. He pulled up the chair next to her and sat.  

He cleared his throat and leaned his cane against the edge of the chair, realizing too late he should have asked permission before making himself comfortable. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not,” she said, but the wideness of her eyes seemed to shout _what are you doing here?_

Nonetheless, he persisted. Making her feel better suddenly seemed far more important than beating a hasty retreat to his dusty old house. “This isn’t like you, Belle. Why aren’t you having fun with the others?”

“Others?” Some of the staff had started line dancing to a country version of “Meet Me Under the Mistletoe,” but Belle gazed around the loud room like she didn’t even know she was in the middle of a party. “Oh. I guess I’m not really in the mood for a party anymore.”

The pained look she gave him stabbed him in the gut. “I see.”

“It’s my own fault.” She swiveled toward him so her knees collided with his thigh and she reached out to touch his shoulder lightly. A tingling rush swept down his arm at the feel of her fingers against his body and sweat beaded along his hairline. Clearly, he’d been staring at the computer screen for too long today. Besides, she was a tactile little thing—always hugging her coworkers. He tried to dismiss the jolt that passed between them. Certainly, everyone who touched her experienced this peculiar reaction.

“Mr. Gold, I’m so sorry about embarrassing you earlier. I didn’t mean to announce my feelings in front of everyone. Ruby...the Dinosaur...it all came tumbling out.” Her neck turned a mottled shade of pink and she forced out a breath that made the hair on her forehead fly up.

Feelings? Now it was his turn to stare. Hadn’t it all been a joke? He wanted to ask more questions about these feelings she’d reference, but his nerve had fled. “It’s no matter,” he said, waving the apology away.

Her frown bloomed into a smile, the tiny worry lines on her forehead smoothing. “Then you forgive me?”

He couldn’t help but smile at the giddy relief in her voice. Belle possessed such a sweet spirit and was one of the most genuine people he’d ever met. It was one of the reasons all their clients loved her. Forgiveness was easy. “Of course. Nothing to forgive, really.”

He began to stand, prepared to excuse himself and head home, but she caught his arm. Those strange, wonderful tingles returned, peppering his arms with goosebumps, and he held his breath. She would want to rejoin her friends and he had overstayed his welcome.

“Will you stay for a while longer?” she asked, looking as hopeful as a child on Christmas Eve. “It’s bad luck to be alone before midnight.”

“Is that so?” He arched a skeptical eyebrow but relaxed in the chair once more. Belle was smart and beautiful and likable, and if she wanted his company heading into the New Year, he would enjoy these few, fleeting moments and bask in the sunshine of her presence.

“Yes!” She leaned forward, warming up to an argument she had already won. “And what will Regina say if you leave? She’s gone through all this work to host a party and you can’t just walk out.”

“Ah yes, Saint Regina,” he quipped with a teasing wink. “Calling an event planner who handles the food and the decor is hardly a groundbreaking effort in the world of party planning. Besides, she can’t fire me for leaving a party. She’s known me too long.”

A dimple danced on Belle’s cheek, making his lips quirk at the corners. Her good humor was infectious and he made a show of stealing a slice of cucumber from her untouched plate of party food.  
  
Besides, the Secret Santa debacle wasn’t her fault. What did he need with another pair of ugly socks, anyway? When she rushed to offer him more snacks, he accepted a cracker and a square of cheddar cheese. He took a bite and she did the same, beaming at him around a mouthful of cheese. He couldn’t fathom how or why, but somehow he was improving her mood.

“Did you have a nice Christmas?” she asked.  
  
He swallowed the cucumber round and shrugged. She didn’t want to hear about his lonely little existence. Neal was busy with his studies and had decided to tackle an accounting internship between semesters rather than come home. He couldn’t blame his son for being driven especially since it was his father’s own workaholic example the boy was following. “Same as any other. You?”

“I did, but I was also a little preoccupied.” She broke a cookie, offering him half, and wiped the smattering of crumbs off her skirt. “You see, I’ve been looking forward to this New Year’s Eve party for weeks.”

“That’s natural,” he rushed to assure her, eager to focus on anything but himself. “The New Year can be an exciting time. Full of promise. You’re young, Belle. You have a life, plans, goals. Tonight represents a fresh start and a chance to see those things come to fruition.”

“You’re right,” she said. “But that’s not why I was excited. May I tell you? The truth?”

“Of course. ‘This above all; to thine own self be true,’” he quoted from Shakespeare. He couldn’t imagine where she was going with this.

She looked surprised. “Funny you should mention that. I was given a box of tea with inspirational quotes on the tags and that was one of them.”

“Intriguing,” he murmured, feeling his cheeks burn. Did she suspect who the tea had come from? “You were saying?” he prompted.

“Right. Sorry. Got off track.” She laughed nervously and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, catching a blue sugar crystal from the cookie they’d been sharing. “It was because I was anxious for an excuse to see you.”

“Me?” His heart stuttered and he almost choked on his cookie. “Miss French, don’t you see enough of me five days a week?”

“No.” She shook her head. “We see each other, but we don’t talk unless it’s business.” She reached for his empty hand and laced their fingers together. “Wasn’t I Belle a moment ago?”

“I uh…Belle,” he corrected with a gulp while he stared down at their joined hands.

She fluttered long, ink-black eyelashes. “I like you. I want to know you. Not as my boss or someone I work with, but as a person. I want to know what you eat for breakfast, which authors are your favorites, whether you listen to music or talk radio in the car on the way to work.” 

He was dumbfounded. No one except Neal had ever cared about his interests or preferences. And no one—not even his ex-wife—had ever looked at him the way Belle French was looking at him now. Under her gaze, he felt attractive, like he had something to offer beyond sage business advice and a primer on how to work one hundred hours a week.

When he saw himself reflected in her eyes, he didn’t hate the man he saw staring back.

“Have I completely shocked you?” she asked, the adorable worried crinkle reappearing between her eyes.

“Yes. No. Yes,” he croaked. She was still holding his hand and he squeezed her fingers, trying to communicate with his touch where words failed. “In the best way, Belle.”

“I’m so glad.” Her eyes shone she leaned closer and brushed her thumb over the corner of his lower lip. “You had a little cookie crumb,” she explained.

He looked at her mouth, fascinated by how her lips glistened in the low light. What might it be like to kiss those sweet lips when the grandfather clock chimed twelve tonight? The idea left him as breathless as if he’d just run a marathon.  

She gestured toward the opposite corner of the office floor, where the Christmas tree stood sentinel over Regina’s office. “I’m sorry you weren’t a fan of your Secret Santa gift.”

“What do you mean?” He gaped at her. How did she know? “What present?”

“I know we aren’t supposed to reveal ourselves, but I guess it doesn’t make much difference at this point. It was me.” She shrugged. “I’m your Secret Santa.”

He shook his head slowly. “Belle, I’m sorry. I never…” Embarrassed, he trailed off, but what did it hurt to be honest with her now, especially when she’d shared her heart with him? “I thought I didn’t have one,” he confessed.

Her eyes widened. “Wait. Are you saying you never got your present?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” He sounded feeble, even to his own ears. Lonely, pathetic old man.

“But that’s impossible! Unless—” She shot up out of her chair and charged across the office toward the tree, determination in every step. A shiver of hope coursed through him and he followed her to the tree.

* * *

  
Belle knelt at the foot of the Christmas tree and picked around the fallen needles, her heart leaping with expectation. Gold hadn’t hated her gift. He simply never received it! The box was small, but it had to be here somewhere. She patted the area around the tree and sure enough, her fingers seized on a square, hard lump. She peeled back a corner of the tree skirt and there it was—her present for Mr. Gold.

She sat back on her heels and smiled down at the little package wrapped in red foil paper. Other than the slightly crumpled gold bow adorning the top of the box, it was no worse for wear.

“What are you doing on the floor, Belle?” Gold asked from behind her.

Still clutching the gift with one hand, she grinned up at him and accepted his proffered arm. “I found it!” Excited, she jumped to her feet and pressed the gift into his palms. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Gold.”

“For me?”

“Yes, for you!” Belle wished she had a camera to capture the expression of wonder reflected in his eyes. “This is your Secret Santa gift. It somehow got lodged underneath the tree skirt. Maybe when it was being watered? Anyway, mine was one of the first ones and it must have gotten lost. It was there the whole time. 

“'Better three hours too soon—”

“—than a minute too late,'” she finished with a laugh. She was so excited she hopped up and down and clapped. “Shakespeare again! Will you open it now? Please?”

Together, they stood beside the tree while he tore into the paper and opened the box. He grinned down at the little cufflinks, tracing the outline of one with a fingertip. “Why, Belle, these are extraordinary. Thank you.”

“Then you do like them?” She clasped her hands together, feeling like a little girl who’d received a bicycle on Christmas morning. “They’re old books. If you look closely, one of them is a volume of Shakespeare.”

“So it is! They’re wonderful. Would you put them on me, sweetheart?” He held out his arms with his wrists turned up.

 _Sweetheart._ The endearment had her heart beating wildly in her chest. “I would love to.”

Careful not to pinch him, she removed his plain silver cufflinks and replaced them with the new ones. She brushed her fingers over the pulse-point on his wrist, flattered when it seemed to be a little quicker than average. It thrilled her to know she wasn’t the only one affected by their closeness.

When she finished locking the second cufflink into place, he held onto her hands and kissed her palms, one at a time, his eyes burning into hers while his soft lips warmed her flesh.  
  
“I’ll cherish them always,” he said huskily. Not only were the cufflinks far and away the best Secret Santa gift he’d ever received, but there was also the gift of Belle herself, who in two short hours had made him feel cared for in a way he hadn’t been in years. Maybe even never.

Arm in arm, they returned to their chairs in the corner and nibbled on another plate of snacks. For the next hour, the rest of the world fell away and they focused on nothing and no one but each other.

“Fifteen minutes till midnight,” Belle observed when Regina and Mary Margaret Nolan began to pass out sparkling hats and decorative noisemakers.

“So it is.” He nodded, feeling selfish for taking up so much of her time. “Would you like to join the others?”

“Let’s not.” She touched her fingers to the sliding glass door that led out onto the ocean-facing terrace. “Let’s ring in the New Year together under the stars—just the two of us.”

He suppressed a thrilled shiver, loving the way she automatically included him in her plans. With Belle it was never “I,” it was always “we.” Suddenly the lonely New Year’s Eve he expected to face had been transformed into something enchanted and sweet.

“What about the Secret Santa reveal? Don’t you want to know who your gifts are from?” Gold’s smile was mischievous.

“I have a feeling I already know,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for all of my presents. They were wonderful.”

“How did you figure me out?” he asked, opening the sliding glass door and gesturing for her to proceed him onto the terrace.

She threw a wink over her shoulder. “Tonight’s inspirational Shakespeare quotes matching up with the tea I was gushing over? Kind of a giveaway. And you have a lousy poker face.”

He laughed and followed her outside. The sea air was crisp and fresh, and high above the waves, the stars twinkled as bright as peppermints. The winter wind was more like a gentle breeze, giving away nothing of the impending snowstorm. Gold removed his overcoat and settled it around Belle’s bare shoulders, then tied the scarf in his pocket around her neck. He stood behind her, lending her the warmth of his body while he buttoned the coat.

“Perhaps,” he whispered in her ear, enjoying the way she shivered at his touch. He grasped her earlobe between his fingers and gave it a teasing tug. “Or perhaps I _wanted_ you to guess it was me. Luck of the draw, sweetheart."

“Not for me!” She whirled around and poked a finger at his chest, pretended to be outraged. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Gold, I was forced to trade names _and_ bribe people to earn my position as your Secret Santa!”

“Belle, be serious.” She’d traded with other co-workers to get his name? The number of surprises he was trying to wrap his head around tonight was staggering.

“I am being serious! I had to agree to take the Zelena Mills account off Killian Jones’ hands before he would let me have your name! People like you more than you might think. Give them a chance to get to know you. Maybe even attend one or two of Regina’s famous icebreakers?”

He grinned. “Zelena Mills? You must really like me.”

She swatted his arm then turned toward the water again. He drew her back against his chest and pondered her advice.

He’d never thought of relationships this way; that the people he worked with could become his friends or that he could even date someone who worked for him. He’d always believed keeping his business and his personal lives separate was best, a major point of contention between him and Regina. She knew of his failings with his ex-wife, and so they agreed to disagree.

In the past, opening himself up to know and be known had only brought heartache. Yet in the span of a single evening, Belle showed him that his life could be more than a cautionary tale. If he opened his heart he could have friendship, maybe even love.

All he had to do was follow Belle’s example and be brave. He wasn’t quite ready to step off the elevator and declare his feelings in front of the entire office, but he could manage to ask her out on a date or even hold her hand at Regina’s next office adventure.

“Will you help me be a better man, sweetheart?” he murmured against the side of her neck.

“Mmmhmmm.” Belle let her eyes flutter closed with a contented sigh, welcoming the warmth of his arms around her. “Since it’s going to be a new year soon, would it be alright if I call you Darach from now on?”  
  
She felt his nod against her hair and smiled.

It was too dark to see the beach, but from their vantage point on the seventh floor, she could hear the ocean waves crashing against the jagged rocks while the sweet, minty fragrance of the night air tickled her nose. 

From inside, she heard Regina over the microphone beginning the one-minute countdown to midnight. Gold pulled out his pocket watch and they peered at it together in the dim terrace lighting.

Fifteen seconds until the New Year. Belle’s heart pounded with anticipation and she pressed her forehead against his. “Will you count it down for us?”

“Here we go,” he began in that husky timbre that would make reading from a telephone book magical. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.”

Through the glass, the grandfather clock rang out the hour of midnight and time stood still. Inside, the festivities paused for a fleeting moment to listen and reflect as one year became the next.  
  
Belle lifted her chin, closing the small distance between them. As the last stroke of the clock died into silence, their breaths mingled and their lips met. She sighed into the kiss while his arms tightened around her back, the twin pleasures of his lips against hers and his strong arms holding her making her blood sing.

When they parted, noisemakers were announcing the start of the New Year, confetti was flying, and Belle savored the joyful shouts of her friends before they launched into a happy chorus of “Auld Lang Syne.”

 _For auld lang syne, my jo_  
For auld lang syne.  
We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet.  
For auld lang syne.  
  
“Darach?” 

“Hmm?”

She squeezed his waist. “Your eyes are still closed.”

“’Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,’” he quoted, then opened his eyes and treated her to a sheepish smile. “Eggs over easy, Shakespeare, and classical music.  
  
She blinked at him. “Sorry, what?" 

“I believe those are the answers to your questions from earlier.” He nuzzled her cheek. “My favorite breakfast, author, and morning radio preference.”

She giggled, then grabbed his lapels and hauled him against her for another kiss.

“Happy New Year, Darach,” she whispered.  
  
“It is a Happy New Year, isn't it?" he asked, and the smile he gave her was something she knew she would never forget—not this year or in all the years to come.

_  
-fin-_

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: The office grandfather clock, in Regina’s family for three generations, was a gift from her father, Henry when she opened the company.


End file.
